


Carried Away

by sherlockian4evr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Carrying, First Kiss, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: For the prompt: Sherlock is hurt/sick and John has to carry him. Lots of fluff.





	Carried Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jammypants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammypants/gifts).



> Beta read by [Sherlock1110](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110).
> 
> I'm taking fic requests. If you have something you would like me to write, drop me a note at sherlockian4evr@gmail.com.

Sherlock tripped as he got out of the cab outside of 221. He went down hard, twisting his ankle as he fell.

Seeing the normally graceful detective hit the ground was a shock to John, but not as great a shock as hearing him yell, “Bloody buggering fuck!”

“Sherlock, are you okay?” the doctor asked, crouching down beside him.

“No, I’m not okay, you idiot.” Sherlock clutched at his ankle. He had gone grey from the pain. “And you call yourself a doctor.”

“Arse.” John brushed the detective's hands aside. “Let me look at it.” He gently probed Sherlock's ankle. “It’s not broken, just a bad sprain.”

“It still hurts,” Sherlock complained.

“Of course it does,” John acknowledged. “You shouldn't put any weight on it.” 

“What do you suggest I do, fly?” the detective snarked, then he tried to get up. When he put the slightest weight on his damaged ankle, he hissed in pain.

“For goodness sake.” John swept Sherlock up in his arms and carried him to the door of 221.

At first, the detective complained. “John put me down this instant. What if someone sees!?” Soon, however, he noticed the doctor's dark, musky smell. It went straight to his head and calmed him.

Mrs Hudson opened the door. “Goodness. Whatever happened?”

“He sprained his ankle, Mrs H,” John explained. “He needs to stay off of it for a few days.”

“Oh dear. You take care of him, John.”

“I will.”

The doctor carried Sherlock up the seventeen stairs to their flat, his strong arms cradling his flatmate. Sherlock marveled at John's strength and felt secure in his arms. He found the whole thing rather appealing. It was actually disappointing when John set him down on the sofa.

“There you are. I’ll make us some tea.” John went into the kitchen, completely unaware of the effect he had had on his flatmate.

Sherlock was grateful the doctor hadn't noticed. His cheeks were flushed and he felt rather giddy. He hoped John would stay in the kitchen long enough for him to get control of himself.

By the time the doctor returned with tea and biscuits, Sherlock had put on a mask of indifference. John offered him paracetamol which the detective accepted. It barely took the edge off his pain.

Together, they watched crap telly late into the night. The whole time, Sherlock contemplated John. He wanted to feel those strong arms holding him. To that end, he made to stand up.

The doctor's reaction was immediate. “What are you doing?”

“Going to bed.” The detective made a show of grimacing when he put weight on his bad ankle.

“Idiot.” John came over and picked him up. “I thought I told you to stay off that ankle.

“Yes, John.” This time, Sherlock wasn't caught off guard and he could better appreciate his position. He rested his head on his flatmate's shoulder and inhaled his rich, musky scent. It was absolutely intoxicating. He suppressed a giggle. It wouldn’t do for John to know how giddy his strong arms and masculine scent made him feel.

All too soon he was placed on his bed and the doctor had left, casting a ‘good night' over his shoulder. That left Sherlock staring at the ceiling, wishing he was still in John's arms. He spent long minutes recalling the feel of the doctor's arms around him. He also contemplated how best to obtain one of John jumpers, one that he had worn and smelled of his scent. It was with those thoughts that he drifted off to sleep.

Several days passed with John carrying Sherlock around the flat. Each time it happened, it became harder and harder for the detective to hide his reaction. He couldn't get enough of the close proximity to John.

It was late in the second week of being carried by his flatmate that Sherlock recognised the giddy feeling he felt around the doctor for what it was. When he did, he blushed furiously. He was in love with John Watson, no, that was impossible. The most he could hope for was more of his attention, more of being carried, but that couldn’t last much longer. Or could it? What if he ‘hurt’ his ankle again? That would do.

Later that day, Sherlock made a show of rising from the sofa and trying to walk. He artfully fell, ‘injuring’ his ankle.

“You numpty,” John chided. “What were you thinking? Just a few more days and it would have been healed. Now we'll have to start all over again.” He sighed. “Where were you going anyway?”

The detective put on an innocent expression. “I was just going to the kitchen. Experiment.”

John huffed in exasperated amusement. “All you had to do was ask,” he said, his voice fond. He scooped Sherlock up in his arms, oblivious to the happy sigh his flatmate let out.

The detective couldn't help himself. He was so high on his success that a giggle escaped him. When John looked down at him, Sherlock blushed. The look in his flatmate's eyes was full of amused warmth. It went straight to the detective's head and he placed a kiss on John's jaw, then he hid his face against his the doctor's throat.

John looked down at his flatmate, eyes startled, but hopeful. “Sherlock?” He got a muffled, embarrassed reply. Sitting down on the sofa, he cradled the detective in his arms. “It’s all fine. It’s good.”

Sherlock, still blushing, peeked at the doctor. What he saw made him breathe in sharply. John was looking at him tenderly. “I love you,” he blurted out, then hid his face again.

“Oh, you wonderful, amazing man,” the doctor said, holding Sherlock tight against him. “I’ve loved you for ages. How have you never observed?”

The detective drew back and met John's gaze at last. The tension melted and they both fell into a fit of giggles. John kissed Sherlock, swallowing the giggles down. It was at that moment that John stood, hefted the still giggling detective over his shoulder and proceeded to the bedroom where Sherlock's blushes gave way to moans of pleasue and cries of 'John!' that lasted well into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I read and treasure every single comment I receive, but I'm totally crap at responding to them. Please know that they fuel me. Thank you in advance.
> 
> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://sherlockian4evrsblog.tumblr.com) or @sherlockian4evr on Twitter.
> 
> Find out how my muse is doing at [My Other Tumblr](http://writingformymuse.tumblr.com).


End file.
